Life as a teenage phantom
by Soiree musique
Summary: Christine and Raoul have a son, who is just like Erik the phantom! Written from the new Erik’s point of view. he's arrogant, sharp, disturbed by his father, and...in love with his mother? ATTENTION, GOODBYE NOTE ADDED.
1. Happy Birthday Erik

**Life as a teenage phantom**

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own diddlysquat, save for Erik the child, and all the other POTO children, but they belong to themselves._

**Pre-story ramble:** _A story to help with my new rekindled love of Le Phantome De L'opera or whatever it is in French. It's based around the children of the characters of POTO, written from Erik's (Christine and Raoul's kid) view. He's smart, unlike his family. Basically Eric reincarnated! Its my first ever phanfiction to this sight. Actually it's my first phanfiction ever! Be kind, but firm. _

_Its mostly based on the 2004 movie, with a few references to the book, and a more lerouxy Phantom (still like Gerry of course),because the distortion was pretty lame in the movie. _

_The chapters are short, so that I don't feel under too much pressure when I update. Enjoy!_

**Chapter One: Happy Birthday Erik**

I was awoken by my father, and after giving myself time to gain full consciousness, found myself surrounded by brightly wrapped packages and a ludicrous amount of ribbon. Of course! Today was my birthday! I had finally reached thirteen, and was officially a teenager. I was ready to reap the world with my hormonal mood swings and break girls hearts with my boyish good looks and dashing charm. It's a shame that I can't even fool myself on that level. I am not what you would call a 'heart throb'.

This can probably be explained by the fact that I am rather short. From appearance you would swear that I am a mere nine years of age. I do personally think that I am at least slightly handsome, but sadly the word cute is probably more appropriate. My hair does nothing to help deter this impression. It is dark brown, like my mothers, thick and slightly curly, soft and wispy and shoulder length. You could not deny that I had a, for want of a better word…foppish look. Just like my father. I longed to take a knife and cut the whole damn thing off so that I didn't look like such a girl, but this would probably kill him. He took great pride in my hair and insisted that I had my own personal hairdresser and a whole cabinet of hair cosmetics. He also made me wear foppishly posh clothing like him as well. Sometimes I swear he was trying to turn me into him!

Although I may resemble him, I can at least thank the lord for something. I, unlike my father, or for a matter of fact any of the clan de chagney currently alive, possess quite superior intellect. I presume I inherited this from my mother's side. Not necessarily from my mother herself. Although I love her dearly, I have to admit she is a little bit dense. After all she did marry my father. There are two candidates for this genetic heritage in my opinion. The first was my grandfather, my mother's father, who I never had the privilege to meet. I have heard her speak of him many times, and know that he was a talented violinist and also possessed a grand imagination, for he had told my mother many wondrous stories, which she had in turn told me when I was younger. The second was my uncle, Philippe de chagney, whom I also never met. All I have heard of him is that he was a sensible man, and that he was nothing like my father. This suggests quite an intelligent person. The only thing to hold against him is that he strongly disagreed of my mother. I cannot imagine why. They are a match made in heaven; they belong together in all their dense and foppish glory. It also seems that he died in rather mysterious circumstances. I tried to find out how, but all my questioning concluded to nothing. Both my mother and father insisted that he had died of old age. This was clearly a lie. He was only middle aged at the time when his life ended. I thought it was highly suspicious. I made a mental note to find out more.

Anyway, back to my birthday. My father was looking at me expectantly, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, clapping his hands together excitedly, and squealing with delight. I have to admit that sometimes I feel ashamed of the dear fellow. My mother was by my side, smiling warmly at me, and eyes misty, as they often were when she looked upon me. I don't know what I'd do without her; I love her so, just as she adores me. My little brother was also present. The poor little thing really was the chubby version of my father, brain capacity and all. He was six. When he was born, I must admit I was very jealous. Not because my father dropped me like a hot cake and immediately became obsessed with my brother instead. I have to say that I was actually quite relieved because the pampering was almost more than I could tolerate. I am more of a quiet person, and I like my solitude. The thing that really affected me was the neglect of my mother. Now that I am older I can see why this was, because she was extremely busy looking after the awkward baby, but at the time I did not understand, and I was distraught. Finally I expressed my feelings to her, pouring my heart out and crying wretchedly. Afterwards she took me in her arms, and we cried together in the night. After that, she always made sure to spend time with me, and make sure that I never felt unloved again. Now that I think about it, she always acts strangely round me, extremely affectionate, but at the same time slightly wary. I made another mental note to make a full observation of this, and make sure that I wasn't just being paranoid. I also made a mental note to buy a notebook, in which to write down my mental notes, so that I wouldn't have to remember them all.

My father had apparently grown bored of waiting for me to do something interesting and had started to absentmindedly primp himself in front of my full-length mirror. My brother was smiling stupidly, and picking his nose. My mother picked up one of the presents and gently pressed it into my hands.

"Here you go sweetheart," she said softly, "happy birthday."

She kissed me on the forehead. I sniffed her pale neck as she leaned in close to me. She smelt of strawberries and roses. For a second I caught a look at her face, and I saw tears in her eyes. Quickly she turned around, and when she looked back, her face was light and happy, and I started to doubt what I had seen.

"Go on," she prompted, gesturing at the package, "Raoul, Ralph, come and watch."

Carefully I undid the wrapping, not ripping it once, and gently placing it on the blankets beside me. I don't know why I bother to be so neat, when it's going to get thrown away anyway. It's just that I can't stand messiness. I picked up the tag and examined it. It read-

_To my dear son, the older one, Erik, not Ralph._

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. How could this fool possibly be my father? At least he had remembered who I was, and not addressed it to Ralph. I suppose I should be thankful. 

I opened the velvet box. Inside was a silver hair clip. On its upturned side were sapphires, to match my eye colour, and the gold lettering EDC, for Eric de Chagney. My eyebrows shot so high that they almost disappeared into my hair, and I gaped wordlessly. He couldn't be serious! My little brother piped up-

"Do you like it? I helped papa pick it for you! Isn't it pretty! I've got one too! Look!"

He pointed spastically at the clip holding back his hair. My father giggled with delight.

"Don't you just love it!"

All I could do was grin feebly and hope that I could hurry up and finished unwrapping the gifts so that I could escape without permanent mental damage. I quickly put the clip and its case on the bed table beside me and picked up the next package. Again I removed the ribbon and unwrapped it perfectly. I read the tab-

To my dearest sweetheart, happy birthday 

It was from my mother, so at least it wouldn't make me nervous or disturbed. It was a pair of books. On the deep red cover of the top one was embroidered the words-

The art of ventriloquism  
I had heard the word before, but was not sure what it meant. Gently resting it on the table, I brought the second one to my eyes and read the front.  
A guide to professional magic and illusions  
This I understood perfectly, and a gleam entered my eyes. I had always harboured a secret ambition to be a magician. I was amazed at how my mother could know this, without us ever discussing it. I couldn't wait to read it and start amazing my family with astounding tricks. I noticed that my father was looking confused. True, he was often confused, dew to his limited understanding of most things. I was amazed that he had been able to produce my brother and me, probably the best thing he had ever accomplished. That and marrying the angel that was my mother. But this look was different. I noticed that he looked steadily at the book, his brow furrowed, and then at my mother. My mother's cheeks had turned a slight shade of pink and she did not meet his gaze. Very peculiar. My brother was fidgeting; clearly his short attention span meant that he was now becoming bored with excavating the contents of his nose. "Open mine. Open my present now!" 

He whined, thrusting the badly wrapped and oddly shaped gift, with an incredible number of bows on it, at me. I took it gingerly, praying silently. It was squashy and soft as I held it. My worst fears were realised. When my brother had asked me what I would like for my birthday, I had foolishly told him to get me anything he wanted. I should have known better. I opened it. Inside was a soft, pink, plush toy bunny rabbit. It was wearing a woolly jumper, also pink, with blue lettering proclaiming, "I love you." Also inside the package was an identical jumper, large enough to fit me, with the words "I love bunnies," written across the chest.

I truly thought I was having a brain haemorrhage. Even my mother looked a little disturbed. My father however, clearly could see nothing wrong with this, for his eyes lit up and he smiled happily, his face aglow. My brother was also beaming.

"Put it on! Put it on!"

My father also took up the chant, as they watched me expectantly. I didn't want to upset them, but neither did I want to die from my brain spontaneously combusting. I swallowed and said hastily.

"Oh no, I couldn't! It…might get dirty, and I wouldn't want to ruin it! I'll save it for a special occasion."

For a second I thought they wouldn't buy this explanation, but luckily they did. Obviously it didn't occur to them that today was in fact a special occasion, or that if it did indeed become dirty, it could easily be washed. I inwardly sighed with relief. I noticed that my mother was grinning to herself, and I couldn't help smiling too.


	2. Don’t Get Carried Away

Chapter Two: Don't Get Carried Away 

There was one last gift to be opened. There would be dozens more, from friends and relations, later at the party to be held in my honour. Anyway, the gift in question was stood at the foot of my bed. I had not noticed it until that moment. It was rectangular and quite large. Feverishly and pulled myself towards it, leaving my blankets behind me. I inspected the attached card.

_Dear Erik. We hope you like your special surprise. Love from your mother, father, and brother._

I pulled away the shiny paper and felt the breath catch in my throat. Lying before me, in all its chestnut glory, was an elegant, beautifully crafted, violin. With it lay a book, entitled

_Songs for the budding violinist_

I was so overwhelmingly happy. I have always wanted to learn an instrument, and now my wish was to come true. I threw my arms around my mother and cried tears of joy. She held me, and gently ran her fingers through my unbrushed hair. When I had calmed down I also hugged my father and brother in turn. I felt like hugging everyone. Even aunt Geraldine, with her bristly moustache and hairy mole.

I picked up my violin and bow and placed it lovingly under my chin, as I had seen other's do. Gently I drew the bow across the horsehair strings. The noise that was produced was sweet and echoing. I smiled with relief. I had half expected my first try to result in something like a cat having its tail pulled. I looked up at my mother. She was crying again. But these were tears of happiness. Again I drew my bow, tilting it slightly, and a new deeper but still beautiful note issued forth. Experimentally I played out a few notes. For some reason the tune sounded familiar, as if I had planned to play those exact notes subconsciously. Finally I removed the violin, and placed it tenderly before me. My mother wiped her eyes and said in a hoarse voice-

"That was beautiful sweetheart. You're going to be a natural, I can tell. You'll make your grandfather proud."

She got up to leave, and I watched her as she crossed my room to the door. She was wearing a simple blue silk nightgown. Her hair was partly tied into a French plat, and her dark curls fell elegantly down to the small of her back. I felt my heart swell. I must be the luckiest child alive, to possess such an exquisite mother, who loved me unconditionally. In the back of my mind, I was slightly disturbed by my own feelings. Was a son supposed to love their mother to the extent that I loved mine? Why was my love so extreme? She had many flaws, mainly in intellect, definitely not in looks, yet I saw her as a perfect being, practically an angel. I was not what you would call clingy, but I always felt a sense of insecurity whenever I found myself without her, am I always needed reassurance of her love. I made yet another mental note, this time to hire a psychiatrist, for I clearly had one or two issues that need to be addressed and resolved.

My brother made to waddle after my mother, but before departing, he decided to take my plush bunny present with him, clutching it tightly to his chest. Personally I wasn't bothered. He was welcome to it. My father lingered. I noticed him glance quickly at the books from my mother, and for just I split second his face took on a very strange grimace, the likes of which I never seen him make before. Then he addressed me-

"Now son, don't get carried away, with this stuff."

I blinked stupidly, probably mirroring the look my father usually took on. What on earth was he talking about? What did he expect me to do? Now I really wanted to read those books. After I while he grinned idiotically as usual, and produced a small piece of paper from his pocket, and held it out to me. I took it and examined the front. It was a ticket, to the opera that was to take place that evening. My mother was to be the main soprano, a character named Margarita. The production was to be _Faust_.

"Now don't tell your mother, she wouldn't want you to go."

Perhaps my father wasn't as stupid as I assumed. I couldn't wait. Although my mother was indeed an opera singer, she never sung around the house, and therefore I had never heard her. Actually that is not correct. Once, when I had gone to visit my mother at the Opera Populaire at the end of rehearsals, I had come to her dressing room door, on the verge of knocking when I heard it. My mother was singing softly to herself. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. Now not only was I in love with my mother, I was in love with her voice. The words were muffled, but I could vaguely make them out.

_Angel of music_

_I denied you_

_Turning from true beauty _

They were sung with such sadness, that I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. I longed to hear her again, but I was much too shy to ask her to sing for me. Now I would be able to hear her. I wondered why my mother did not want me to hear her sing. I had never sung myself, I was too nervous in case someone might hear me, and I had no experience of the thing. I also wondered who was this angel of music she sung of? Another mental note to find out. Now I desperately needed a notebook.

My father left. I was alone and able to contemplate and get dressed. I stood up, scratched myself and yawned. The sun was streaming through the branches of the tree positioned outside my open window, casting beautiful intricate shadows on the floor. It was then that I noticed the dark figure positioned among the leaves at the same level as my eyes. I had the huge urge to let out a girlish scream, but managed to subdue it.

**To be continued…**

**(A/N) **so there you have it! Who is the figure outside the window? Who knows? Who cares! Please do review. If you liked it, let me know. If you didn't…still let me know! I'll be updating A.S.A.P. TTFN


	3. Im Just the Deliver Boy

**(A/N) **welcome to chapter three! Yay! I have to admit that not much happens…but it will in the next chapter!

Thanks so much for reviewing Araiona Dubois! Many hugs and kisses for you! My _only _reviewer (sob). Uh…hem, anyway…

Enjoy!

**Chapter three: I'm Just The Delivery Boy!**

The figure made towards the window, clumsily, and clambered into the room. It was then that I recognised who it was, and couldn't help sighing with relief. It was Alexandre Giry, or Alex, as he was commonly known. My mother was a friend of his mother, Meg Giry, the ballet teacher at the opera. She had, in younger years, been one of the most successful prima ballerinas in Paris. He was a humorous boy, very friendly, if not a little clumsy and awkward. As he stumbled into my room, he managed to catch one of his rather large feet on the leg of my dressing table, and landed spread-eagled on the rug, face down. I helped him up. He is the same age as me, but a good foot taller, being quite tall for his age. He is extremely skinny, with sandy hair and out of proportion hands and feet. In his said hands was clutched a packet. It was wrapped in simple brown paper, and tied with a black ribbon. I stared at it. He noticed me staring and held it out to me, grinning. I took it, my eyebrow raised.

"Is this…from you?"

I questioned, wondering why he chose to give it to me now, instead of later at the party.

"Oh no! It's from Grandmamma."

So the mystery gift came from Madame Giry. The woman was a marvel, and I held her in the highest respect, although she was at most times a little strange. She was reaching the age of fifty-four, and from the moment of my birth had taken I keen interest in me. She had encouraged me to be inquisitive and discouraged me from acting anything like my father, and I thank her greatly for this. I always felt as though she was hiding something from me. She had an amazingly mysterious air, as if she knew something that no one else could possible imagine. However I was still confused.

"Why didn't you use the front door?"

I enquired, my eyebrow arched.

"Because she told me to get the gift to you without your mother or father knowing."

This was rather odd, and just raised further questions. I asked him why my mother and father were not to know, but he said that he had no idea, and that he was just the delivery boy. More questions flooded my head, filling the pages of my mental notebook. Damn.

"Anyway, I've got to go."

I looked up at him, noticed that he was fidgeting, and realised that I must have slipped into one of my deep contemplations. I bid him farewell, and watching him climb back down the tree. He got about half way, lost his footing and landed in a pile below. Luckily it was autumn, so there were plenty of multicoloured leaves to break his fall.

I turned away from the window, and took a seat back on my bed, looking at the package I held loosely in my hands. Attached was a small card. I recognised Madame Giry's handwriting. It said simply-

_To Erik_

I undid the ribbon and peeling away the paper. There were a couple of things inside. I picked up the pieces of paper on top. They appeared to be music manuscripts. It was handwritten, but not in a style that I recognised. It was written in red ink. The title proclaimed-

_Music of the night_

With it was another note. This was clearly from Madame Giry. It read-

_When you have become experienced in playing your new violin, you must learn to play this._

I blinked. How very peculiar. I inspected the music more carefully. I couldn't understand any of it, but from what I did know, I thought it looked awfully hard. Still, I was determined to try. The next item in the package was a collection of writing paper and envelopes. With them were a bottle of red ink, a fine eagle quill, and a block of sealing wax. I could see that these could be useful, but I was not custom to writing many letters. And why on earth would I want red ink? I didn't want people to think that I wrote with blood! The final thing inside the wrapping was a small, black, leather bound notebook. Incredible! How could she possibly know that this was exactly what I wanted! Truly she was incredible!

I placed the notebook and a pencil in my breast pocket, and made ready to go down to breakfast. Before I left, I made sure the place these new, strange presents in my draw. There must be reason why Madame Giry wanted them to be secret, so I decided to keep them hidden.

Just before the party I received a note. It was an apology from Mlle Giry, informing me that Alex would not be able to make it, on account of the fact that he had broken his ankle. I could have sworn that he hadn't looked that hurt when I saw him fall from the tree, but I guess I was wrong. Poor boy.

**To Be Continued…**

**(A/N)** thanks for reading! Please more reviews, they make Erik happy! What will happen at Erik's party? I can tell you it won't be dull! TTFN


	4. Its A Violin, Not A Fiddle

**(A/N) **Bring on chapter four! Where things start to turn foul! Poor little crazy Erik…but I won't say anymore!

**Araiona Dubois**- Oh thank you so much! Again! You Rock! I've actually learnt how to play 'Music of the Night' on the piano. Yay! Erik gives you a small hug, then pulls away, blushing

**MetalMyersJason**- thankyou for your review! Wouldn't you like to know? Shame I ain't going to tell you! That would take away the mystery factor, now wouldn't it? Alex thanks you for your concern.

**Priestess Adularia- **thanks for reviewing. Yeah, I wasn't too keen on the book Christine either; she did seem to be leading Erik on.

Anyway, Enjoy!

**Chapter Four: It's a Violin, Not a Fiddle!**

The party, I knew, was to be a mixture of both enjoyment and irritation. I awaited the arrival of the quests, peering over the banisters into the entrance hall below. I couldn't understand why I felt this way towards people. I had spent most of my life at grand parties and social events, and yet I dreaded every one. This can probably be explained when you look at the people I met there. They were the higher class, the crème de la crème of Paris. They were also completely stuck up, arrogant fools, who drove me close to insanity. I always had to spend time with their children, the upper crust of the future. They were spoil brats, as pompous as their parents. When it came to choosing between spending time with them, or being alone, the latter would always win. This may sound rude and anti social, but if I were to lock you in a room with a group of them for a while, I am sure you would come round to my way of thinking. Anyway, they were now beginning to arrive. My parents stood by the door, the ever-gracious host and hostess, greeting them. Most were members of my father's family, and a few just rich, powerful people in high places, that always ended up invited to these types of events. Luckily there were others, the ones who came to know me through my mother, the ones I really care about. If I could have helped it, I would have solely invited these people. Unfortunately my father wouldn't hear of it. He strongly believed if it wasn't grand and expensive, then it wasn't special. I couldn't be bothered to argue with him, for it would inevitably be fruitless.

After the dinner, in which I had to blow out the candles on a ludicrously sized cake, and open the mountain of presents, most of which were expensive, but completely pointless, and a few special items, from those who knew me better, and knew what I liked, I had to take the children to my playroom, while the adults remained in the hall, dancing and socialising. I felt a pang when leaving my mother, wearing a gorgeous dress of lilac and white, which was low-cut; displaying the necklace I gave her last Christmas. My father didn't even notice me leave. He was too busy talking to Brevard de Chagney, my fathers cousins husbands brother (not sure how he was related to me, and I couldn't be bothered to work it out), about my little brother Ralph, surprise, surprise. Brevard was an enormously fat man, with dark hair and a large, bristling moustache. His voice was extremely deep, and when he talked, his multiple chins were set aquiver.

My brother himself followed the young guests and myself as we made our way upstairs. I noticed that he was still clutching the bunny, which he had decided to call, and I quote 'Erik's bunny who likes me more and wants to be my friend instead, who is also called Erik,' in other words, he had named the toy Erik. How original.

I stormed into the room, crowded with toys, which I hardly ever played with, but Ralph did, and shelves of books, which were my pride and joy. I selected a book from the group, and promptly dropped into the soft rug, mentally blocking out my guests. I had only managed to reach the end of the prologue, when a shadow fell over the upturned page, and I was aware that someone was standing over me. I looked up, preparing to demand the intruder their reason for interrupting me, but when I saw whom it was, the remark died in my throat. It was Emmaline Giry. Dear, sweet, pretty, quick-witted, kindly Emmaline. I must confess that I harbour…feelings for her. Not the deep, spiritual never-dying unconditional love I have for my mother, but never the less there is definitely a strong sense of affection. I wanted to impress her, to act witty and charming towards her. Unfortunately when she caught me off guard as she had done just now, my mind abandoned me, and I could do nothing but blink stupidly. Me blinking stupidly seems to be I trait I have inherited from my father. Curse him! She stood there, smiling gently as I struggled with my eyelids. She was wearing a pretty frock. It was clearly not expensive, for the Giry's were not very well off, but I do not care about trivial things like peoples backgrounds. Being a child, her frame was wiry and her chest flat, perfect for a ballerina. However I didn't doubt that she would soon grow into a womanlier figure, as she came of age. her hair was long and golden yellow, like her mothers. Her features were pretty, not beautiful, but definitely attractive. Unfortunately, she was also, though a year younger than myself, taller than me. Finally I managed to bring a sentence to my lips-

"Ah, miss Giry. To what do I owe the pleasure of this interruption?"

She smiled more broadly, and there was laughter in her sparkling blue eyes.

"Oh Erik! You're so funny!"

No! I was trying to be charming and sophisticated! Not funny! Damn this body! I am cursed to always be short and foppish! I am condemned to always be cute! I am certain if I had been another entity, someone tall and handsome, that remark would have left her swooning.

My thoughts were interrupted by a shrill voice. It belonged to a little de Chagney whom I detest, going by the name of Gwendolyn. Every word she spoke was like a bash around the head, but it was not just her voice itself, it was the words she squealed.

"Oh look, Frederic! A violin! Isn't it just darling?"

Oh dear God I am such a fool! I completely forgot to move my violin into my room before the party. Frederic, a tall, porky boy, advanced on my poor instrument and picked it up, quite harshly in my opinion. He thrust it at me.

"Go on then, play."

He new full well that I had only just received my violin, and therefore had not yet mastered any impressive music. Gingerly I took it from him. I saw Emmy watching me, and my stomach shrivelled up. I closed my eyes, trying to pretend I was alone. I played the only song I had so far managed to learn. It was simple and bland. Luckily it was also short. I opened my eyes. Emmy was smiling and clapping her hands, but she was the only one.

"Don't worry little Erik." Said Frederic pompously, "someday you'll be as good as me! Here, let me show you."

He snatched the violin from my unresisting hands, and placed it under his gluttonous chin. I winced. He began to play a jaunty ditty. It was a well-known one, and often sung by the children of Paris.

The sound to me was…_horrific_. With every note that was strummed, I felt as if a knife was being imbedded in my head. The word violin was pulsing in my head, transforming into the words vile din. I shrank back, my hands pressed tightly over my ears. Frederic didn't notice, and continued to twang the strings. The other children were laughing with joy. They started to clap along to the tune. Then some of the girls started singing along in their shrill, flat voices. I felt as if my eardrums were on fire. I couldn't block it out! I screwed up my face and screamed-

"My ears, they bleed!"

The song danced around inside my cranium. I found myself on the floor, cradling my head in my hands.

"For the love of god and all things good…make it stop…have mercy on my soul…the horror, the horror…it's a violin, not a fiddle!

And with that I was reduced to a quivering wreck on the rug, sobbing uncontrollably.

After a moment I paused to draw breath, and found that the music had in fact ceased. I tilted my head upwards, gazing at my captivated audience. They were stood stock-still, faces a mask of terror and shock, their eyes wide, their mouths gaping open like floundering fish. I got shakily to my feet, wiping the imaginary dust from my tailcoat sleeves. I was aware that Emmy had moved back, away from me. Nobody moved a muscle, or uttered a word.

"Great," I thought sardonically, "not only am I a fop, but I also appear to be mentally unstable."

The fat arse clasping my violin finally shattered the silence. I had been watching him. He alone had remained calm, and he was smirking at me, his eyes gleaming mischievously. You see; he was simply a bully. He would pick on anyone, should the opportunity arise. Unfortunately for me, the beast of opportunity was rearing its ugly head. He knew my weakness, and he would use it against me without remorse.

He positioned the violin below his chin again. I could tell immediately what he was planning to do, and tried to brace myself against the ensuing onslaught. He raised the bow ready to strike.

"So, little Erik, you didn't like my playing did you? Well it seems to me that everyone else did. Am I right?"

He addressed the other kids. Some of them nodded, and a few of the braver ones muttered words of agreement. All were scared of Frederic, (even more than they feared me, the crazy lunatic) so naturally they were not about to stand up to him. Anyway, in there eyes were the gleams of hunger. They wanted to see me taken down a peg. I always treated them like idiots. Mainly because they are idiots, but they didn't see it that way. Now they would have a sense of revenge through Frederic's punishment.

To Be Continued… 

**(A/N) **dun, dun, dun! What will Frederic do? Let's hope Erik can take it! Being the authoress 'n' all, something tells me he will, and then knock the stuffing out of that fat ass! TTFN


	5. Make Your Decision Emmy

**(A/N)** Welcome to chapter 5! Wow, four updates in four days. It cannot go on like this! There is homework that must be done!

Sob mean school sob

Anyway, before you read this I must explain myself. I wrote the song contained within this chapter while at school on Friday, because I was bored in maths. Seeing as this story's based on the movie as well as the book, I figured it was about time somebody sung! It's the second part of 'Past The Point Of No Return/Down Once More/Track Down This Murderer/thingy' in which Erik is threatening to strangle Raoul. That same situation is about to take place in a new carnation!

**Phantom'sJediBandieGirl**- thanks for your wonderful review! You flatter me so! Your superstitions are well based, but are the true? You'll have to wait and see! Here, have an Erik hug! Hugs

**SilverSummerMoon**- thank you very much for your review. I like your penname, but your profile scares me! Bleeding ears, lol. Can that actually happen me wonders…hmm.

**beata-beatrix- **Yes, a good Punjab will solve most things, as you are about to see!

Enjoy!

**Chapter 5: Make your decision Emmy!**

He pulled the bow harshly across the strings. He pressed it hard, so that it scratched and jittered as it travelled mercilessly across the horsehairs. It sounded like the kind of noise I would expect my father to make if he awoke to find I had lopped off his precious locks with a rusty knife. I attempted to act unaffected, but failed miserably. A spasm went through me; I developed a twitch in my right eye, and my hand involuntary shot upwards to clasp my throbbing forehead. He guffawed with cruel laughter. The others tittered and jeered, enjoying my torture. Again a resounding discord, again a heart wrenching spasm.

"Stop," I muttered breathlessly.

He chose to respond with another ear splitting strum. The horror and pain within my mind was slowly being replaced with a new, more dangerous emotion. Anger. I could feel it palpitate around my body.

"Stop," I said again, stronger than before and in a deadly tone.

He failed to notice the underlying threat on his safety, and ignored me again, his face twisted into the hungry look of a fat bloodhound, hunting a rabbit. It was too much for me. I saw red. My entire being burned with hate and inconceivable rage. Somehow I managed to subdue the urge to attack him, but I could not suppress the need to yell at him.

"You will curse the day you did not do!

All That Erik De Chagney asked of you!"

Strange, why was I suddenly talking about myself in second person? I was also thoroughly surprised by the power and deepness of my voice. Not only that, but layers were resounding in it, giving it a hard and gritty quality. It was rather impressive, as it echoed menacingly around the room. It was as if the devil himself had just spoken! Faster than it would have been thought possible, all the children threw themselves backwards, until their backs were pressed against the walls, cowering. The only one not to move, was Frederic. He appeared to be frozen in place by shear shock and terror. Then he made an almost fatal mistake. He panicked, and threw my violin with all his might at my head. I ducked just in time, and it smashed against the wall close to the door. I stared in disbelief at the shattered remnants of probably my most prized possession, and my vision blurred. I realised that I was crying. Now he had to be made to pay, to suffer as I was suffering. I picked up the group of skipping ropes that were conveniently positioned at my feet. Solemnly I tied them together. At the end I tied a Punjab knot. Grinning manically, I advanced upon him. Then for no apparent reason, I burst into song.

"_Monsieur, I think you'll find that,_

_It was a very bad idea,_

_To destroy my violin, _

_And my eardrums as well!"_

I threw the Punjab lasso. It landed around Frederic's bulbous neck. He let out a squeal like a piglet, but before he could do anything, I hooked the rope over the small chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Now when I pulled on it, it tightened, and Frederic's neck was yanked upwards. If I pulled hard enough, he stood no chance. Nor could he move or defend himself. Emmy let out a gasp of horror. I continued to sing, in my newfound gruff voice.

"_Play your annoying ditty now!_

_Taunt me and hurt me without any remorse! _

_Nothing can save you now,_

_Except, perhaps, Emmy!"_

I pushed Frederic roughly in the chest and turned to her, my face contorted, and made towards her, without letting go of the rope. Of all of them she was the only one I would ask for conformation.

"_Tell me what I should do!_

_Shall I just get on with it and strangle him now!_

_Personally, I think I should just let choke him to death!_

_But I really want to know!_

_Your opinion because it matters to me!"_

I stopped, rasping for breath. I was also shaking rather violently. I was not used to singing on any level, especially belting it out as I was doing now. She stared at me, also breathing hard, her face a mask of horror and despair. Behind me I could here Frederic whimpering pathetically.

"_I don't think you should, it is an horrific crime_

_I can't believe you're planning to commit murder!"_

I realised that this was the first time I'd ever heard her sing. She was definitely a soprano. She had quite a lot of talent, and with a little work her voice could be heavenly. However, I was crushed by the way she spat the last words at me, disgusted. Then, oh dear god, Frederic started trying to sing.

"_Eric, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry_

_I didn't mean to break your fiddle and make you cry!"_

I interrupted him at once.

"_What part of it's a violin not a fiddle didn't you understand!"_

Emmy voice lifted over both of ours.

"_Erik, you monster, this is evil!_

_I thought you were nice but it seems that I was very wrong!"_

I ignored her, instead using more rope to tie Frederic's hands and feet together.

"_No time for guilt trips or useless pity"_

Then both Frederic and me sang simultaneously.

"_Emmy it is hopeless-"_

"_All hope of being spared-"_

"_He's totally lost it-"_

"_Is just a waste of time-"_

Then together we both sang-

"_For whatever you do or say, you cannot win!"_

"_For whatever you do or say, he has to win!"_

Then a thought struck me.

"_But I swear to do as you want,_

_If you let me tutor your wondrous voice!"_

"_Why would she let you near her, you're a freak!"_

This idiot really didn't know when to stop. I yanked on the rope, in an attempt to shut him up. Emmy started to sing again, and I found myself harmonising with her.

"_Erik, my friend-"_

"_Make your decision now Emmy!"_

"_Will you stop then?"_

"_Emmy just say yes already, I cant breath!"_

"_His life is now the prize, which you must earn"_

"_I'm too young to die…"_

He sang that last line so sadly and fearfully that I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"_Make your decision now Emmy."_

"_You're a demon… do you really like my voice that much?"_

I sighed with exasperation. I thought I had made my point pretty clear.

"You try my patience. Make your choice."

I gave the rope a forceful pull, and Frederic spluttered and choked. Emmy just stared at me, her eyes full of tears, and I found that I couldn't look her in the face.

"_Pitiful child of darkness,_

_Why are you acting this way?_

_Couldn't you tell that I loved you?_

_Now you've thrown that away."_

My eyes widened in shock. She loved me? I was even more shocked when she advanced on me, and kissed me gently on the lips. My hands flailed wildly and my eyebrows shot so high they appeared to be non-existent. Slowly I settle down into my very first kiss. We stood together; ours tears mingling as they flowed down our cheeks. She tenderly ran her fingers threw my hair, just like my mother did to calm me. After a while she pulled away from me, her face wet. I started sobbing uncontrollably and shaking. What was I doing? I was mad! A monster! I needed help! And now she no longer loved me. I had lost her forever.

I noticed that the other children had left the room, and I heard a commotion from down stairs. Quickly I undid the lasso around Frederic's neck, and untied him. He bolted for the door. I heard him screaming as he descended the stairs.

"Father, he's mad! He's evil! He's a monster! He should be locked up! Father, he tried to kill me!

Emmy remained.

"Leave!" I shouted at her, my voice breaking, "Forget me! Forget about the singing lessons! Leave me alone!"

I pushed her angrily towards the door.

"_Go back to your mother. Don't tell her about any of this! Swear to me never to tell, that I cried like such a girl!"_

I could here people storming up the stairs. I heard them shouting angrily. Again I sung, my voice wavering with despair.

"_Go now! Go now and leave me!"_

I pushed her through the door and followed close behind. People had reached the top of the stairs. They froze. We froze. The leader was Frederic's father, dragging his prostrate son behind him.

"You!" he shouted, "evil little bastard!"

This broke the spell over me. I shoved Emmy at them, pelted along the landing, and into my room. Hurriedly I closed the door and locked it. Just in time. People started banging on the oak, shouting threats and demanding that I open it at once. I flung myself onto the bed. Curling into a tight ball, hugging my pillow, and letting the tears flow free. I was so tired, so miserable. I'm not sure when I fell into sleep. But when I awoke, all was silent. The party was over.

**To Be Continued…**

**(A/N) **now what will happen…um, I'm going to have to think about that. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! I had to watch that part of the movie about five times to get the rhythm and word pattern right! it might bea while before i update, but i will! TTFN


	6. To The Opera House

Howdy Hey! Here's chapter 6. It's not as good as I would have liked, but oh well. I have plans for the next couple of chappies, so no worries!

**Araiona Dubois**: Oh you're so great! Words can hardly express my gratitude! So I'll talk rubbish! Hiuh lijougf sedryek! Yeah… love ya!

**Phantom'sJediBandieGirl**: Thanks for another review! Goody! I know it was a bit random, but randomness rules! Woohoo! I like your idea that Erik will go to the opera, so I used it!

**beata-beatrix: **thanks for another review! I'll have to have some chandelier falls in future chapters (makes mental note)

**Chapter 6: To The Opera **

Quietly, I unbolted the door, and crept into the landing. I am a very accomplished creeper. I can blend in to the shadows, and not make a sound. I could hear voices from my parent's bedroom. I drew nearer, not daring to breathe. My mother was sobbing, and my father sounded as though he had been crying as well.

"What are we going to do Raoul? My poor baby! Is he to be condemned for our sins?"

"Mostly your sins actually dear…"

"I could tell from the moment he was born, it was Erik in a fresh form. I knew that if he wasn't scarred physically, then he would be mentally."

"But how can this be! He's definitely mine, not _his_."

My father spoke this last word with such hate and fear, that I was startled.

"What can we do? What can we do? I tried my best to make him feel such love that he would be different! But it hasn't worked has it? Why am I being punished? Its not my fault that he died!"

I slipped back into my room, not wanting to listen anymore. My mother and father thought I was insane. Maybe I was. Something had gone wrong, and they thought that I was their punishment for it. And who was this Erik, that my mother had loved, and my father loathed? My apparent name sake, who appeared to be dead. I lay, curled up in my nest of blankets. I felt a lump under my back, and reaching in, retrieved a soft velvet toy monkey. The only toy that I had ever felt love for. I had made him myself, and christened him Gerry. My mother didn't appear to like him very much when I presented him to her. I assumed it was because she was scared of monkeys. However I had kept him, and I found cuddling him would calm me when my mother was not available. Now I held him fondly, feeling his silky fur brush against my bare arms.

Apparently I must have remained in this position for quite a while, for I heard my mother leave the house, and get into a carriage in the street below my window. With a start I realised that she was headed for the Opera Palais Garnier, for the production that I was supposed to be attending as a birthday treat. I was desperate to go, but I doubted that I would be allowed to after the…incident that had taken place a few hours ago. I heard my door creak as it swung open. I knew that my father had entered the room, and I closed my eyes tightly, not wanting him to know that I was fully conscious.

He came and sat beside me. I didn't move a muscle, but remembered to breathe deeply, as one does when asleep. He laid a hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently. I made no response.

"Erik, are you awake?"

This was a rather stupid question, as it was most apparent that I wasn't. He sighed, and tucked me in.

"Perhaps its better that you don't go tonight. You've had too much…excitement for one day. I'll take you another time, when you're feeling…better."

Then he leaned in, and kissed me on the lips. A kiss on the forehead is expected. A kiss on the cheek is acceptable. But a kiss on the Lips? Kissing an innocent, unsuspecting child on the lips! You dirty fop! You disgust me! I batted him away and sat bolt upright, wiping my mouth desperately. My lips were smothered in the taste of cherries. I loathe cherries! I spluttered and coughed, trying desperately to scrape my tongue clean. He watched me with horrified fascination. When I had finally removed all remnants of the terrible flavour, I drew a shuddering breath and gazed bleakly at him.

"When are we to depart?" I asked curtly.

He stared at me stupidly, clearly without a clue what I was asking him. After I pause, I sighed in exasperation, and added-

"For the opera house?"

He shuffled nervously, and subconsciously twisted a strand of hair tight around his finger.

"Perhaps it not a good idea to go to the opera tonight. You are…tired. Yes tired! So am I actually."

He faked a huge yawn to try to emphasis his point, completely failing to convince me. Idiot.

"Let's just go another night."

"No," I said stubbornly.

I shot to my feet right in front of him, and he took a startled step backwards. I grinned broadly at him, showing my perfect, little, pointed, pearly teeth.

"For you see, I have rested, and now I am fully awake. I was promised a trip to the opera for my birthday. By you. If you were to break that promise, I would be terribly upset."

My eyes flashed dangerously, while I continued to smile. My father chuckled nervously. There was a pause, in which I didn't move, or change my expression, and my father began to sweat profusely. Finally he gave in.

"Alright. Be ready in fifteen minutes."

He hurriedly left, nearly tripping over the corner of my rug, and stumbling.

Hurriedly I got dressed, deciding to wear my best evening suit, complete with cravat and tailcoat. These were the clothes that I had bought with my mother, rather than my father, and I found them a lot more comfortable and stylish. I met my father by the door, wearing his posh, rather feminine dinner suit, and we set off.

We arrived at the opera Palais Garnier with plenty of time to spare before the beginning of the first act. I was slightly disappointed to find that our seats were positioned in the middle of the stalls.

"Why didn't we purchase seats in one of the boxes?" I questioned, gesturing at them.

My father looked nervous again, fidgeting with his collar.

"I'm sorry, but they were all reserved when I came to buy the tickets."

I was preparing to enquire why he couldn't simply have obtained one anyway, as a favour, seeing as he was the patron, and had donated an obscene amount of money to the opera over the years, particularly after the incident in which the enormous chandelier had fallen and got damaged, and the building had been set alight. It was quite an unusual story, of which the exact events were unknown to me. My parents had refused to tell me anything. The only way I had even known of it at all was though Madame Giry, and when questioned all she tell me was that 'it was the revenge of a tortured angel." She could be annoyingly unhelpful sometimes.

I noticed that the Giry's were in fact currently standing at the end of the aisle, smiling and beckoning to me to come and join them. I obliged. There was Madame Giry, Meg Giry, Alex (supported by crutches, and with his ankle heavily wrapped in bandages), and Emmaline. She didn't smile or acknowledge my presence. She just stood, staring at her feet. I felt ashamed and awkward. To break the tension, I enquired about how Alex was feeling, in a rather quakier and wobbly voice than I would have liked. Damn nerves. He put on a brave face, and said that he was feeling a lot better, and thanked me for asking. Meg embraced me, and grinned.

"Welcome to the opera Erik. Isn't it beautiful?"

I gazed around at the highly decorated walls, the elegant nude golden female statues, the repaired yet still exquisite glass chandelier, and the deep red curtain hiding the stage.

"It's incredible."

Madame Giry caught my attention. She was smiling to herself, in a strange, knowing way.

"Would you like to look around Erik?" she enquired, staring at me, "There are many interesting things to be found in the lower floors of this opera house, that the usual audience never see."

I nodded, feeling that it could be quite enjoyable.

"Off you go then," she said, gesturing to a side door.

I blinked stupidly. Very irritating. It was becoming a serious problem, which I couldn't control.

"Aren't you accompanying me?" I asked, confused.

"No," she replied, "you'll don't need any one with you. I'm sure you'll be able to find your way around. Just make sure your back in time for the start of the performance."

Mlle. Giry looked nervous and scared by this suggestion, arousing my curiosity.

"Mother, are you sure that's a good idea? Maybe I should go with him."

"No," was her same reply, her voice firm, "don't fuss Meg! He'll be fine."

Then she gave me her strange, knowing smile, and winked at me. I hesitated, and then made for the exit. I walked at a brisk pace, past the manager's office. There were people behind me in the foyer, making their way into the auditorium. Ahead of me lay quiet, deadly silent, and there was nobody in sight. I quickly found a staircase spiralling downwards, and took it into the winding catacombs of the lower part of the opera.

**(A/N) **and that's where I'll leave you. What will Erik find on his merry wanderings?Find out soon! If you have any ideas for this story, please let me know, because I value advice! TTFN


	7. Damn That Mirror

Hello! I'm back! Woohoo! I am soooo sorry, it's been ages. First my computer power charging device broke, and then all my coursework needed to be done, and I'm still doing it…but enough excuses. Here's chapter 7.

**Estelle Tiniwiel: **I didn't update soon, forgive me.

**Phantom'sJediBandieGirl:** read above. I used your idea again! Yes, the monkey is named after Gerard B, you noticed!

**Beata-beatrix:** your ideas will be used. Oh yes.

**Araiona dubios:** yay! More ideas! (Makes note)

**Priestess Adularia:** thank you!

**Kirstin Rose: **thank you to you too! I know I shouldn't have left it. (slaps own hand) but I have now updated.

**Chapter 7: That damn mirror!**

So I made my way through the labyrinth the passageways below the opera house. Corridor after corridor of gloomy, empty darkness. I was beginning to wonder why on earth Madame Giry had sent me down here, when there was clearly nothing of interest. But still I stalked onwards, getting more and more irritated by the fact that every corridor was exactly the same as the last. I had no idea what time it was, or how much time had lapsed since I left the auditorium. It could have been a few minutes; it could have been a few hours. I came to an abrupt halt. Perhaps the Opera had already begun. I felt an ache in my heart as I realised that there was a chance that it could even have finished. My mother's performance could have been and gone, and I had missed it.

No, that was not possible. I couldn't have been down here for more than a few minutes. I refused to miss my mothers singing. I had been waiting for so long to hear it. I wheeled around and sped back down the corridor I had come through. I took the corner sharply and found myself facing a fork. I hesitated. Which way had I come? I had been so caught up in the pointlessness of it all, I hadn't even considered which way I was going. Now I was lost. This place was huge. How the hell was I supposed to find my way back now? Panic filled me. And that was not the only thing. I suddenly got the inescapable feeling that I was being watched, and that I saw something stirring in the shadows just in the corner I my left eye.

Left or right. I had a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right. But then there would be more turns to make. The chances had to be miniscule that I would succeed in guessing every one right. But the feeling of being watched, the word hunted seems appropriate, was getting stronger with every passing second. It could have just been my imagination, but I could hear the sound of breathing behind me, and I could just imagine a pair of cold piercing eyes boring into my back. I made my choice, and went right. The shadow followed right behind me, hugging to the walls, and silent, so that I couldn't be sure whether it was really there. I sped up. So did the shadow. Another turn loomed ahead. Without thinking about it I turned left, gathering speed. I pelted along the corridor, my tailcoat billowing out behind me.

My breathing started to become ragged and strained. My legs ached, but still I kept going. I wished that I had done more exercise, rather than just spending my days reading. I didn't dare stop, or even turn my head to glance behind. I turned another corner, and with I jolt saw a staircase before me. Unbelievably, miraculously I had made it back.

I clambered up the steps. Gas lamps on the wall caste light onto my face. My eyes darted around wildly, taking in the details. This was not the same corridor as the one I had originally been in. damn. I wheeled around. There was a figure on the stairs. Slowly, and with extreme grace for such a tail individual, he ascended every step silently, and with an air of bitter malice. I could not make out his features, and I was sure that I didn't want to. There were doors along the wall. Entering one would mean trapping me in a corner, with no possible means of escape. Besides, I was no coward. If this man wanted to harm me, then I would face him. I would not give in without a fight.

I stood still, watching him, and pulling a face, which I hoped, showed discontent, rather than pure terror. Finally we were inches from each other. Face to face, or rather, face to midriff. He towered over me. It was strange, but he seemed so far above my head that I still couldn't make out his features, at least not without causing severe muscle strain in my neck. A whimper escaped my throat, and I had to assert a great amount of self control to prevent my bladder from emptying itself into my trousers. The De Chagney instinct was creeping in. my mother had always insisted that my father was very brave and heroic, but I had always classed that as her trying in vain to deny my fathers foppishness. After all, he screamed like a girl if he saw a spider in the house, and would continue to do so huddled in a corner until mother, I, or a servant took pity on him and removed it.

Suddenly cowering in one of the rooms didn't seem like such a bad option. Before the man had a chance to do anything I kicked him hard in the shin. I heard a crack. Good for me, bad for him. I spun around and into the nearest door on the left. I could hear him yelling and swearing as I slammed it hurriedly behind me. There was a key in the lock. It seemed as though someone up there liked me after all. I turned it quickly and took a hurried step back as the handle began to turn, but he could not open the door. Then there was silence. I took in a deep breath. Staggering around the darkened room I finally found a tinder box. More fumbling enabled me to light the gas lamp on the wall. I couldn't believe my luck. I was in my mother's dressing room.

In a spontaneous bound of joy I plunged onto the bed. I wriggled around like a crazy thing, twisting the sheet around me. I was just so glad to be somewhere that was linked with my mother. Somewhere that was almost as good as being with my mother herself. After what I had just been through, I was more than happy to settle for second choice. I buried my face in the pillow. It smelled of her. I rolled onto my back, and stared at the ceiling. My father stared back, smiling foolishly. Gross. She had a picture of my father tacked to the ceiling, so that it was the last thing she saw when she went to sleep, and the first thing she saw when she woke up. Why didn't she have a picture of me on the ceiling? I looked at her bedside table. There was another picture of my father. There was a picture of them together. There was even a picture of Ralph. But there was no picture of me. Nowhere in the room was there a trace of evidence to the fact that I existed.

Why? Didn't she love me? Did she secretly despise me because of this Eric man? I couldn't understand it. And that damn mirror! I didn't know what the hell was wrong with me, but my eyes just kept subconsciously staring at it. I wasn't vain. I didn't care about my reflection. Intelligence is much more important than appearance. But there just seemed to be something…_wrong _with it. I edged closer to it until I stood directly in front of the glass. My reflection looked back, with an expression of mild confusion on his face. I inspected the edge, and found the problem. Around the sides of the glass was a small crack. I moved my face in front of it. I could feel cold air blowing against my cheek. It smelt mouldy and dank, like a cave. I peered through it. There was definitely a passageway upon the other side, but it was too dark to make out clearly. I dug my fingers into the gap and tugged. The mirror remained firmly in place. No matter how hard I tried, I failed.

Finally I gave in, and slumped back onto my mother's bed. I felt angry. There were so many secrets hidden from me! Like I wasn't important enough to know! Even my mother, the person I idolised, lied to me! With every word she spoke to me, I would see the pain in her eyes! What had I ever done but worshipped her with absolute devotion! I had tried to be the perfect son, but failed! I was losing my mind! People were afraid of me! Why? Why! I saw red. My body took over, as my mind took a backseat to watch the carnage to ensue. I picked up the gas lamp on the table and turned purposefully towards the mirror. And then I rain down upon it, blow after blow. Finally I managed to smash through it completely. I tossed the lamp over my shoulder aimlessly, and felt satisfied when I heard it smash against the wall.

I stepped through, careful not to cut myself on the sharded edges of the remains of the mirror. A torch in the bracket on the wall allowed me to see a few feet ahead of me. Further on was a mystery. I tried to reach the torch, but my height was against me. Never mind. I still had the timber box, which was an adequate light supply. I stalked forward, surrounded by my little pool of light. A little way on I nearly fell down an unforeseen stairway. I began to descend them, and stubbed my toe on a protruding rock. This wasn't doing anything for my mood. And then I tripped. Unable to regain my balance I toppled forward, landing in a heap at the bottom. Ridiculous! I clambered to my feet, and now I thundered along, muttering under my breath. I didn't care if anyone heard me. I had as much right to be hear as anyone else! My mother was their star after all! She always provided a full house! They owed her everything! And what kind of idiot had built this death trap? Probably some perverted backstage workers, using a two-way mirror to spy on my mother! Disgusting! I would never stoop so low! They wouldn't get away with this! When I got back I would register a complaint! I wouldn't rest until all responsible were fired! That would show them! Damn them! Damn them all to he-

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeellllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll… (Splash)

**(A/N) **and there you go. Can you guess what's happened? I'm sure you can you clever people! I would like to say that the next chapter will be submitted much quicker than this one, but with all my work, I can't guarantee anything. Sorry. TTFN


	8. Bye Bye

I'm afraid I lied again when I said I would get the next chapter up quicker than I did the last one. And I'm afraid it gets worse :(

I realise that I have no intention of continuing this story. I have too many other projects (mainly art) at the front of my mind that I want to concentrate on. There's a chance that I will, in the near distant future, continue this when I have nothing else to do, but it seems very unlikely.

I am just letting you know, so that nobody is expecting the next chapter any time soon.

However, if anyone wishes to take this storyline, and alter it to his or her own style, be my guest. What's more, if anyone wants to actually take what I have written and directly continue it yourself, you have permission to do so. I would be honoured :) I may even leave comments. Just let me know.

Just keep in mind that if I choose to continue the story, I will start from where I left of, and your story will be disregarded from the plot. Again I will note that this is almost definitely not going to happen.

Also, if anyone reads this story, and enjoyed it, then please still leave comments. I may pop in and read them from time to time.

TTFN for good (at least 99 for good)

Soiree Musique


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